Bob Dylan and The Fight
Today was a day of Bob Dylan and coffee. I sat on my bed a lot and did a variety of things, none of which were rushed. I spent a long time before noon reading and praying with the blinds open and a cup of coffee. After lunch, I worked, made brussel sprouts, and drank another cup of coffee. The difference between a snow day and a Saturday is that a day like this is a bonus. You don't have to get everything done, whatever you do is just extra. And the feeling of getting ahead is, well, heady. And the extra rest feels like a blessing from heaven (which it is). And between the coffee and Bob Dylan you have a little time to process life, catch up on the flying whirlwind of it all.
For me, I had to process The Fight. It was, by no means, a good fight or a dramatic fight or an intense fight. But it was the first in my classroom, and it shook me up. It lasted probably only 30 seconds or a minute and it was more of a butt whipping than a fight really. B had the upper hand, meaning the poor other child was on the ground and B was punching his face in, kicking it a couple times too. When B heard and saw me, he stopped and retreated to the other side of the classroom and sat on a desk. I wasn't worried about him touching the other kid again, now that I was involved. Because, well, B is one of my kids. Teachers aren't suppose to have favorites, but there are just some kids who belong to you. They're not all the good kids or the smart kids or the kids who are going places. I don't think there's a common denominator because it really isn't logical; some kids are just yours. B is one of mine. And when I saw one of my babies kicking another kid's face into the ground, I wanted to cry. The day before I had sat down next to B after the other kids left, and I basically told him "I love you. Do better." And he listened. But I'm not Jesus and when B snapped, he kicked a child's face. The physicality of the fight shook me, but more than that I saw the hatred of one human being towards another.
I've only ever been in one fight and it wasn't much of one. I was in elementary school and my slightly older cousin liked to beat on me occasionally, when she got real mad. I was a good kid and knew I shouldn't hit her back. But one afternoon while we were playing, she hit me for some reason I don't recall, and I got angry. I remember the intense feeling of wanting her to hurt like she hurt me. I smashed her really good, just once, across the face. As my fist hit flesh, I felt out of control and hateful (though it took care of her occasional slaps). It was some of the strongest emotions I've ever felt. I've never hit anybody like that since, but I've felt it again and used my words to inflict emotional pain. The emotion on B's face was similar as his fists hit flesh, and it was scary to watch.
As a teacher, half of my job is to control my children -classroom management. And I can't. I can't even influence them for good. My love and the fact that they belong to me doesn't change their behavior, can't save them from themselves. I pray for my children that God would protect them from the sin of other people and the sin from their own hearts. And it is such a paradox, so confusing for me, that I can love these children who are so sinful and so messed up. There is almost nothing they can do so that I won't love them. They are mine. But there is almost nothing I can do to change them. Loving hateful, sinful, funny, talented children is such a confusing thing. Especially when I know the power of love and long for the good of my children.
For me, I had to process The Fight. It was, by no means, a good fight or a dramatic fight or an intense fight. But it was the first in my classroom, and it shook me up. It lasted probably only 30 seconds or a minute and it was more of a butt whipping than a fight really. B had the upper hand, meaning the poor other child was on the ground and B was punching his face in, kicking it a couple times too. When B heard and saw me, he stopped and retreated to the other side of the classroom and sat on a desk. I wasn't worried about him touching the other kid again, now that I was involved. Because, well, B is one of my kids. Teachers aren't suppose to have favorites, but there are just some kids who belong to you. They're not all the good kids or the smart kids or the kids who are going places. I don't think there's a common denominator because it really isn't logical; some kids are just yours. B is one of mine. And when I saw one of my babies kicking another kid's face into the ground, I wanted to cry. The day before I had sat down next to B after the other kids left, and I basically told him "I love you. Do better." And he listened. But I'm not Jesus and when B snapped, he kicked a child's face. The physicality of the fight shook me, but more than that I saw the hatred of one human being towards another.
I've only ever been in one fight and it wasn't much of one. I was in elementary school and my slightly older cousin liked to beat on me occasionally, when she got real mad. I was a good kid and knew I shouldn't hit her back. But one afternoon while we were playing, she hit me for some reason I don't recall, and I got angry. I remember the intense feeling of wanting her to hurt like she hurt me. I smashed her really good, just once, across the face. As my fist hit flesh, I felt out of control and hateful (though it took care of her occasional slaps). It was some of the strongest emotions I've ever felt. I've never hit anybody like that since, but I've felt it again and used my words to inflict emotional pain. The emotion on B's face was similar as his fists hit flesh, and it was scary to watch.
As a teacher, half of my job is to control my children -classroom management. And I can't. I can't even influence them for good. My love and the fact that they belong to me doesn't change their behavior, can't save them from themselves. I pray for my children that God would protect them from the sin of other people and the sin from their own hearts. And it is such a paradox, so confusing for me, that I can love these children who are so sinful and so messed up. There is almost nothing they can do so that I won't love them. They are mine. But there is almost nothing I can do to change them. Loving hateful, sinful, funny, talented children is such a confusing thing. Especially when I know the power of love and long for the good of my children.
Comments
Post a Comment